


To the Edge, and Back Again

by SomaDarjeeling



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Genocide, Aged-Up Character(s), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alteans Fucked Up, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Caretaking, Extinct Galra, F/M, Feral Behavior, Friendship, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith Gets Fucked Up, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Physical Therapy, Psychological Trauma, Racism, Smuggling, Survivor Guilt, Tags Are Hard, Trauma, sort of a/b/o dynamics, war isn't pretty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-02-26 00:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomaDarjeeling/pseuds/SomaDarjeeling
Summary: It had been several years since he had retired from the garrison, and even longer since he had last dared to leave Earth’s surface and venture into the open expanses of space, as a soldier or otherwise. It wasn’t until later that he would realize what this moment meant for him, the world, and the alien crouched in front of him. It wasn’t until later that people would tell him what he should have done, a thing that would have no doubt been easier and, objectively, more merciful than what he did do.But in hindsight, he knew he would have hated himself for making the decision everyone else wanted him to have made. Despite all the regrets, hardship, and heartache that would come afterwards, he wouldn’t change his decision. He knew he could never live with himself if he had made that decision.If he had realized in that moment, and called the authorities, the Garrison, somebody- if he had fought- things could have stayed the same.But instead he did nothing. And what a surprise that doing nothing could be the best decision he ever made.It only took one moment to change the course of his life, and the course of history.





	1. The Different Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow my notes got jumbled up so I had to fix a few things.  
> Here's the first chapter!

_Hunk started his day expecting for it to begin and end within the parameters of his usual Friday routine. If he didn’t make a habit of poking his nose into things that didn’t concern him, then it may have, and every day after would have been peaceful and normal. But Hunk wasn’t the kind of person who could pass through life peacefully while chaos reigned outside of his little bubble of reality. Even if breaking that bubble terrified him and made him question things he would rather not think about_. _To choose peace would bring him none. He would be plagued by the knowledge that he could have done more._

 

He woke up at six in the morning as usual and made a simple breakfast of bacon, eggs, and French toast for Pidge and Lance, making sure to cook Lance’s portion last because his morning routine would have him slumping out of the bathroom long after Pidge had finished her portion and taken off for the Garrison.

Like clockwork Pidge dragged herself out of her room at six twenty on the dot, making a beeline for the gurgling coffee pot and grabbing her giant green cat-print mug. Today she was already half dressed, a relative improvement to her usual state of dress at this time in the morning, though Hunk didn’t doubt that her Garrison issued slacks were the same pair from yesterday. She didn’t have her glasses on yet- not that she needed them- and her too-big smiling cactus t-shirt was on backwards.

Hunk greeted her with an upbeat “good morning.” She grumbled in response and Hunk smiled to himself, amused.

He finished soaking a thick piece of homemade sourdough bread in egg and expertly settled it into the pan on the stove as Pidge settled herself at the kitchen table with her steaming mug of straight black coffee. Pidge squinted at the time displayed on the stove and sighed. She took a long sip of her coffee before abandoning the mug and padding over to the laundry room.

Hunk continued working at breakfast, finishing plating the toast with a sprinkle of powdered sugar and sliced strawberries as Pidge re-emerged from the laundry room wearing a crisp Garrison Science Division uniform, her glasses perched on her nose. She grunted her thanks to Hunk as he set the plate in front of her, and she hummed contentedly as she reunited with her coffee and took a long drink. Hunk sat across from her with his own plate and a glass of fresh orange juice.

Neither of them spoke, choosing instead to bask in quiet companionship amidst the din of a slow morning. Pidge piled a piece of French toast together with a piece of bacon on her fork and groaned happily at the sweet and savory contrast on her tongue. Hunk grinned at her approval and tucked into his own food.  

The peace of the moment was broken by a chirping notification coming from Pidge’s tablet, she sighed as she got up to retrieve it from the charging station on the kitchen bar. The screen lit up her face as it powered up, and Hunk watched as her eyes flitted over the contents of the message.

“Is it the lab?” Hunk asked, casually inquisitive as he polished off the last of his eggs.

Pidge hummed in confirmation, typing out a quick response and shutting off the tablet. She eyed her half eaten breakfast and gave Hunk an apologetic look.

“It was an auto-notification I set up last night. I left some of my samples cycling last night and the lab is supposed to notify me if some of the stasis parameters change. I was expecting some instability but this is a bit much.”

Pidge huffed as she stomped around the flat to retrieve a few of her things, shoving it all into her messenger bag.

“I’ll probably be late getting back tonight. You and Lance don’t need to wait up for me.”

Hunk frowned. “Are you kidding? Lance and I would never go out without you! We’d get into so much trouble without you there. We’ll just stay in and watch a movie and we can all go out tomorrow night.”

Pidge smirked and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

“Fine, but if you guys are skipping out then Lance gets to be jumper tomorrow and I get to sit back and relax for once.”

It was at that moment that Lance made his appearance from the bathroom, snug in his fluffy robe, slippers on his feet, and his face a bit red from removing his facial.

“I heard my name. What are you guys talking about?”

Pidge took another sip of her coffee as Hunk explained the situation. Lance complained very loudly, whining at Pidge even as she waved behind her and made her way out the front door.

Lance continued to grumble and pout as Hunk made his breakfast, but he seemed to have accepted his fate by the time Hunk placed his plate in front of him.

Hunk cleaned up the mess from breakfast and then left the kitchen to get dressed and collect his things, waving goodbye to Lance as he too headed out for the day, seven o’clock on the dot.

Hunk slowly mad his way out of their peaceful corner of the city and walked the already bustling avenue. The city was already awake, despite the relatively early hour and the overcast sky that promised rain, though Hunk supposed that the city never slept, not really. He worked his way through the crowds slowly, content to keep pace with the flow of the foot traffic. Gaggles of laughing schoolchildren on their way to school passed him by, easily identifiable by their uniforms. Businessmen and women bustled about on their phones as they hailed down cabs and stood impatiently at bus stops. In the street, traffic creeped by as police directed pedestrians and cars alike in the intersections.

It took Hunk about twenty minutes to reach Paifala’s charming storefront, though it didn’t feel like that long.

The bakery was situated on a paradoxically busy yet quiet street corner between an eclectic bookstore and a woodshop. A lot of people liked to call this the “hipster” part of town, and Hunk could understand why when one considered the general vibe given off by the mixed storefronts.

Hunk thought it was the perfect place to put his business, and he had said as much years ago when he spotted the storefront with a big ‘for rent’ sign in the window as he and Lance drove past it in the moving van. It was a bit run down after sitting empty for a few years, but Hunk figured there wasn’t much a fresh coat of paint couldn’t fix. In the end, it took a bit more than paint to get the bakery into working condition, but the work was all worth it.

The embellished wooden façade of the storefront was painted a charming teal green with delicate white accents. Romelle had put her artistic skills to good use and painstakingly inked in striking red Altean juniberry flowers alongside morning glories, wax plants, day flowers, Tahitian gardenias, and golden trumpets. They curled delicately around the edges of the windows and the doorframe, lovingly encompassing the letters of the bakery’s name sitting prominently in the window’s center.

Planters bursting with aloe, succulents, and lemongrass lined the windows while pots of lavender, hibiscus, rubber plants, and assorted wildflowers edged the sidewalk. A vine creeped along the bakery’s awning, curling in loops around the hanging metal sign that Pidge had had custom made as a surprise for Hunk on the bakery’s opening day.

Hunk was glad that he had Shay helping him keep the plants alive because he was sure that if it weren’t for her they would have died a long time ago. The Balmeran had a way with plants that Hunk wasn’t sure should be credited with her being a creature capable of communing with entire living planets or if it was just something she was good at.

He stepped through the bakery’s glass front door, a bell chiming to announce his entrance as it slowly swung shut behind him. He made sure to flip the sign to open before moving on into the rest of the store. The smell of Fa’apapa and Masi Samoa drifted through the air, and Hunk breathed in deep to take it in as he made his way behind the counter.

His bakery heavily featured foods from Samoa and the Pacific Islands since he was so familiar with them, but he made sure to keep more traditionally American pastries and sweets in the displays, as well as experimental treats that featured flavors from across the galaxy. This week they were featuring sweetbread infused with the juice of the tangy ma’ana berry from Olkarion. Reception had been a bit mixed, though most people seemed to like it.

Romelle was already behind the counter, crouched so she could reach her arm into the glass case, a pan of warm pistachio cookies balanced over her knees as she delicately lined them up in the display. Her long hair had come a bit loose from her hairdo, some of the stands falling to obscure the Altean markings on her left cheek. 

She beamed up at Hunk and returned his pleasant good morning as he passed her by and through the door into the kitchen. Several trays of masi were already cooling on the counter as dough for keke pua’a and the ma’ana sweet bread slowly rose in their pans.

Shay was on the other side of the kitchen portioning cookie dough onto trays as two mixers steadily turned over more next to her. Hunk shouted her a greeting over the whirring of the mixers and she smiled shyly in response as she continued to scoop equal portions of chocolate-chip cookie onto the tray.

Hunk washed his hands and pulled on his apron before setting to work. He helped Shay get the last of the cookies portioned and into the oven as the first of the morning’s customers began to trickle through the door. Hunk and Shay didn’t waste any time as they set to work on kneading dough, cycling out the contents of the ovens, and preparing the pork for the keke pua’a as Romelle manned the front.

Fridays and Saturdays were always their busiest days, for obvious reasons, though both days were made even more popular by the fact that they were the only days when Hunk made Masi samoa and keke pua’a at the same time. People were wild for them, and regulars always began cycling through around eleven to grab stacks of warm masi and steaming pork buns. Hunk had only opened the bakery a little less than a year ago but it had already become another part people’s day to day routines. They would come in with coffee from the shop across the street, eager to taste whatever experimental treat Hunk was featuring that week, or to pick up their usual orders.

High school and college students would pick through their spare change and contemplate buying a refreshing vaimeleni while mothers poured over cookie choices with their kids. Businessmen would sit at the tiny tables lining the bakery’s left wall and pick apart delicate cakes and pastries as they slowed down for a moment amidst the hustle and bustle of their lives, smiling to themselves as they indulged.

It always made Hunk happy to see people leave in a better move than when they came in.

The crowds came and went like a steady tide, and before Hunk knew it, it was five o’clock. Romelle cleaned up the lobby and Shay washed out the last of the trays as Hunk closed down the register. When he finished he helped Romelle and Shay finish with the necessary preparations for Saturday, and by seven he was the last out the door, leftover keke pua’a in his bag. Hunk unfurled his umbrella and stepped out into the steady downpour, which has started coming down sometime around midday.

The sky had been overcast that morning, so the rain wasn’t a surprise, though it certainly made what would normally be a pleasant walk in a breezy summer night into a muggy and miserable affair. Shay had gone outside at some point to bring some of the plants inside or move them under the awning so they wouldn’t get too soaked by the relentless downpour. The Balmeran was also nice enough to loan her umbrella to Hunk. He tried to protest but she insisted and said she didn’t mind the rain. She had pushed the yellow umbrella into his hands and whisked out the door before he could say anything else.

The city was surprisingly quiet, despite the time. Normally on a Friday things were still in full swing as people left work and burned away their Friday night in bars and restaurants. Hunk supposed that the weather inspired people to stay inside and order takeout over hitting a night out. He quietly contemplated hailing a cab as he maneuvered around a puddle, though in the end he decided against it. He wasn’t really in any sort of hurry.

Hunk had just turned off the main avenue-about ten minutes away from his apartment building- when _it_ happened.

Hunk was standing at an intersection, waiting for the pedestrian sign to change, when he heard a loud crash echo from the alley behind him, along with the screeching yowl of a frightened cat.

Hunk whipped around, rainwater splaying out in a fan from the top of his umbrella, just as a mangy cat came scrambling out of the alley. It startled when it saw him, pausing only long enough to hiss at him before scurrying away. Hunk stared after it for a moment, trying to catch his breath as he turned his attention back to the alley.

Some old trashcans had been overturned, their contents spilling out onto the sidewalk. A pile of sopping wet cardboard boxes sat melting into the pavement next to them. Hunk’s heartbeat resumed something resembling a normal beat as he neared the trash cans and set them back upright. He picked up the trash and put it back inside and was about to turn away when he noticed something that made his heart stop.

The rain was doing a good job of washing it away from where it had pooled on the ground, but the ledge of the building’s roof protected where the blood had been smeared against the wall.

Hunk hesitated for a moment, frozen by indecision as he weighed the strength of his desire to keep walking and forget he’d seen anything and the weight of his curiosity and his need to do _something_ , anything.

The latter won out, and Hunk carefully stepped into the alley as he pulled out his phone, his finger hovering over the emergency speed dial.

The blood on the wall started with a trail of bloody handprints, leading into a jumble of scraping trails and awkward shapes that could mean a million and one things about what happened here. It looked as if there might have been a struggle, or that whoever was bleeding was struggling to remain upright. Hunk turned on his phone’s flashlight as he came to the edge of the reach of the streetlight.

He had to stifle a scream as the light illuminated the alley, his hand flying to his mouth as he dropped his umbrella.

Some _thing_ \- he couldn’t tell exactly what it was, only that it was vaguely human shaped- was crouched low to the ground on digitigrade hind legs, its front arms human looking save for the wickedly long claws and dark black fur. Its eyes were reflecting the light from his phone, glowing a dull yellow. Its fangs were bared, its expression warped in a vicious snarl, and a rolling growl guttered out from its throat. Its huge ears were pinned to the side of its head against a long mane of black hair.

Hunk had one hand clamped against his own mouth, his other frozen in the air, holding his phone in a shaking grip. He couldn’t react. His body was frozen even as a voice in the back of his head screamed _“move, move, move!”_

The creature’s growling deepened, and it shifted just slightly as its body tensed, ready to spring up and attack should Hunk make any sudden moves. Blood dripped from a gash in its side, and all at once Hunk became very aware of its labored breathing and its shuddering body. This thing, whatever it was, was exhausted, and hurt, and bleeding out right in front of him, and if Hunk wasn’t so goddamn terrified he might have realized sooner just what he was looking at and might have responded the way he had been trained to when he was a Garrison soldier.

_But he was, and he didn’t, and it had been several years since he had retired from the garrison, and even longer since he had last dared to leave Earth’s surface and venture into the open expanses of space, as a soldier or otherwise. It wasn’t until later that he would realize what this moment meant for him, the world, and the alien crouched in front of him. It wasn’t until later that people would tell him what he should have done, a thing that would have no doubt been easier and, objectively, more merciful than what he did do._

_But in hindsight, he knew he would have hated himself for making the decision everyone else wanted him to have made. Despite all the regrets, hardship, and heartache that would come afterwards, he wouldn’t change his decision. He knew he could never live with himself if he had made that decision._

_If he had realized in that moment, and called the authorities, the Garrison,_ somebody- _if he had fought-_ _things could have stayed the same._

_But instead he did nothing. And what a surprise that doing nothing could be the best decision he ever made. Pidge would argue that he did a little- a lot- more than nothing, but Hunk didn’t mean what came after. It only took one moment to change the course of his life._

Hunk did nothing as their stalemate played out. He was too scared to run, too scared to fight, and too scared to just stand there until one side of their confrontation passed out from blood loss or fright, respectively.

“Hey bud, uhhhh…” Hunk hesitated as its ears flicked at the sound of his voice, its growl fluctuating, though it made no move to attack.

“Uhh, do you have a universal translator?” Hunk asked carefully, watching the alien’s expression as he spoke. It cocked its head just slightly, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge the question.

“Okay uh, look man-er-uh, person, thing…. Whatever you are, there’s a hospital a few blocks from here. I can show you where it is?”

Again, the alien didn’t seem to understand what he had to say.

Hunk wasn’t sure what else he could do in that moment, and his eyes locked on to the emergency call button. The wisest thing to do would be to call 911 to get an ambulance for this alien before Hunk had to watch it bleed out in the alleyway. But all at once it didn’t matter, because suddenly a shudder racked the alien’s body and it seemed to convulse for a moment. And then it slumped into the pavement, unconscious.

It took Hunk a moment to register that the alien had passed out before he squawked in alarm and rushed forward. The light from his phone reflected off of the huge pile of blood on the ground, growing larger as it kept spilling out of the alien’s body. Hunk could see now that the alien was naked, though its fur covered any distinctive features that might clue in Hunk to its gender.

He placed his hand on the Alien’s uninjured side and, when it didn’t stir, carefully lifted it up. It was soaking wet, and the water quickly seeped through Hunk’s shirt, though he didn’t notice. He could see now that it had more injuries than just the gash in its side.

A cut on the right side of its face that stretched from just under its eye to its jaw was covered in crusted over blood, and the fur around its eyes seemed to be matted with the gunk of some sort of eye infection. There was what looked to be a stab wound in its left shoulder, with three smaller gashes under it. The alien’s fur was hiding anything else, but Hunk was sure the bits of fur covered in matted blood were hiding smaller wounds.

Hunk was a bit startled to discover that the alien had a tail as well. It was tucked protectively between its legs, curling up the front of its body like a cat’s does when you lift it by its scruff.

It was the tail that made him realize finally what the alien was. The rain and blood had soaked through the rest of the alien’s fur, turning the color black in the low light.

But the lilac striations breaking up the deeper lavender color of the alien's fur left no doubt in his mind.

A Galra.

Here, on a planet smack-dab in the middle of Coalition territory, laying, near dead, in Hunk’s arms in one of Earth’s capital cities, was a Galra.

A race that had gone extinct a century ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunk is Samoan/African-American, and food is a big deal for his characters, so i thought it would be neat to emphasize his connection to his heritage a bit. It won't be a central focus of the fic or anything like that, I just thought it was a nice element to add in.  
> The name of Hunk's bakery is Paifala, which are a type of Samoan pie.  
> Vaimeleni is a Samoan watermelon drink  
> Fa’apapa is baked coconut bread  
> Keke pua'a is basically a Samoan pork dumpling  
> Masi Samoa are deceptively plain looking coconut cookies that taste absolutely amazing.  
> I am not Samoan so if there is anyone who is reading this I apologize is anything is inaccurate or offensive about any of the details concerning Hunk's heritage. Please let me know in the comments.  
> I am interested in continuing this fic though I am unsure about a lot of details in its future, so please let me know if you would like to see more.  
> Thank you for reading. The next update should be sometime next week.


	2. Deinos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Numberless wonders  
> terrible wonders walk the world but none the match for man- 
> 
> Never without resources  
> never an impasse as he marches on the future-  
> only Death, from Death alone he will find no rescue
> 
> Man the master, ingenious past all measure  
> past all dreams, the skills within his grasp-  
> he forges on, now to destruction  
> now again to greatness."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I know I said I would be updating this sometime next week, but guess who is still procrastinating?  
> This is pretty short, and I wanted to join this in with what is going to now be chapter three, but I figured this would be a good insertion before we really begin jumping into the bulk of the story.  
> Fun challenge for you all, if you would like to take me up on it: Can you guess the meaning of this chapter's title? Let me know in the comments!

_The Altean’s hadn’t meant for it to happen, and they had been working as hard as possible to stop the inevitable, but in the end there was nothing they could do except apologize to a race of people who weren’t even able to resent them for what they had done. The struggle was meaningless, in the end. The universe breathed out and snuffed the light of stars like a wayward exhale passing over candle flame. The universe breathed in, and life bloomed and burst in one fell swoop._

_It was relentless. Inevitable._

 

 

 

It all started with Zarkon.

Actually, it all started long before him, when it was proven that the duality of man is simply the product of progress, and nobility and savages alike were cursed to follow along like Odysseus bound.

It began then, with a connection, a hello. A shaking of hands and a smile that transcended tongues. Two galactic neighbors, forged from starstuff and the trillionth of a chance of survival, connecting within the vast void of an empty universe in the space between stars.

The rest is forgotten. The good and the bad wiped away and inconsequential when faced with one monstrously terrible event, lost and unknown in the annals of history.

Zarkon became emperor of the planet Daibazaal, and for a time, things were peaceful. The Galra and their Altean neighbors cooperated in their mission to unite the peoples of the universe and transcend the quiet breath of the void. The technology crafted between them allowed them to transcend the infinite space that stretched on before them.

And then, for some reason that still no one understands, after some devastation that no one knows, Zarkon declared war on Altea, and on every inhabited star system, and he invaded. With every invasion his hunger for power grew and became the doom of millions as he conquered planets and enslaved races. The diaspora from dead planets were thrown out and forgotten, and somehow after ten thousand deca-phoebs the infinite and immortal universe began to feel too small, and time passed too slowly and too fast all at once. The universe breathed out, and nations fell as the Galra bled their planets of precious quintessence.

Even after King Alfor of Altea stabbed Zarkon-a man once his closest and most trusted friend-in the heart and took them both to the grave, the empire lived on, and the Galra became like a pestilence on the body of the universe. When they retaliated for Zarkon’s death, Altea was nearly destroyed. If it had been, then things might have been different.

But it wasn’t. Because like an animal that strikes out when it’s been hurt, the Alteans struck at the Galra, and all at once Dibazaal ceased to exist. In an instance the planet was blown away and reduced to less than what makes up the glowing particles in the space between moons. In an instance, the Galra standing in horror on their warships and planetary bases became the next victims of the universe's infinite turn. But no one could know, in that moment, what such an action would mean, or how swiftly such a powerful body of people could be blown away, just as the desert wind blows sand from one dune to another.

The Galra cast themselves to the stars and continued to do what they do best.

They invaded.

The coalition was born sometime after that, when the Galra began invading every planet they could. Earth was just another stop on the Galra's endless war march, a planet too young to know or even understand of the war in the stars. It took no time at all for the Galra to take over the planet, and even after the Altean's newly formed coalition took over the surrounding star systems, Earth was one of the last planets to shake the Galra off.

After a thousand deca-phoebs, the Galra were pushed out of Earth, thanks to the efforts of the coalition, Altea, and the rebel cells on the planet that had resisted the Galra since day one. Earth was quick to bounce back after the Galra population had been completely purged from the planet, but the scars of what had happened would likely never heal. 

_And in Hunk's time, over a thousand decaphoebs after the Galra occupation, they still hadn't. Even the horrifying decline of an entire race brought on by a merciless avenging force could't erase the hurt of what the Galra had done. Humans had short lives, but their memories stretched far into their pasts, and the immortality of history was made all the longer by Earth's new technology as they opened up to the universal community. The Galra were the bogeymen unspoken, creatures lurking in closets and under beds and around dark corners. They walked unseen where they did not exist, and the collective mind of the universe threw them out of where they did dwell in paranoia._

_There hadn't been a Galra on earth in over a thousand decaphoebs. But if you asked the humans who they feared there was only one face that came to mind._

The Galra's ejection from Earth marked the true end of the war, though smaller skirmishes would still break out as the Alteans relentlessly combed through the vast expanse of the universe and threw the Galra out from wherever they were found like fleas. Entire star systems set up defense forces and emergency hotlines for defending against Galra activity, until soon more than half the universe could happily report that there had not been a single Galra dwelling in the system for decades.

 

Altean scouts chased Galra cruisers like big cats on a wilder-beasts. Entire armadas touched down over the atmosphere of uninhabited planets and drove the Galra out. There was no quarter, no place to rest for the displaced millions as they were banished to the stars. The war of the universe had ended long ago, but the war against the Galra stretched on and on, and no one stopped to think about what they were doing until it was too late.

They didn't realize until it was too late that, after the war was done and the Galra people surrendered (there was never an official surrender, by then they were to scattered to speak for themselves in a unified front. There was only survival) it would have been better to leave them where they settled in peace. To do nothing would have been preferable to the endless chase and its consequences. 

Ten thousand decaphoebs after Zarkon’s reign began, and two thousand after his death, the universe felt safe again. 

But for the Galra, the consequences of Zarkon's greed were only just beginning.

 

At some point, somehow, some Galra somewhere had gotten sick. The disease was passive. There were no outward symptoms, and for a few thousand decaphoebs it passed through millions of gene pools and hundreds of generations undetected. The only signs of its passing were occasional breakouts of hives and rashes, diseases easily treated and explained away. Despite the cleanliness standards maintained aboard standard Galra ships, it was harder to quarantine when too many people were forced to live in a space that was too small.

The flare ups of disease came and went with the generations, but soon the generations stopped coming.

Random mutations caused by the disease left offspring sterile. Those who retained the ability to reproduce suffered in other ways as the disease firmly planted itself in the Galra genetic code.

When Altean troops boarded a captured Galra cruiser that had floated into coalition space, they didn’t find soldiers, or even Galra refugees forced out of their homes on other planets.

They found animals.

 

To call it a neural degenerative disease would be making light of its severity.

It was like someone had turned back time in the Galran hindbrain, prompting a complete species regression that threw the Galra back to the days of their primal ancestors. The Galra trapped on ships had been floating around in space with no rhyme or reason for decaphoebs as they lost the mental capability to pilot them, while others succumbed to their primacy and then starved as resources ran out. Entire cruisers turned into mass graveyards and slaughtering grounds as feral Galra struggled to survive.

Galra suppression missions turned into rescue ops as the coalition scrambled to retrieve those who still lived from their ships-turned-prisons. Every Galra retrieved was like a rabid dog. There was no intelligence behind their lizard-like eyes, no emotion. They were aggressive and temperamental, biting and clawing at anyone who tried to get too close, yet they were startlingly easy to coax onto transport ships with food. Some had to be muzzled, and specialized cages and traps were used for those that were clever enough to avoid coalition soldiers with treats, but not smart enough to figure out basic traps.They groomed themselves like earth cats and stared at coalition soldiers passively in a way that haunted those who stared into their blank, black eyes for too long.

Trying to communicate with the Galra was impossible. They were incapable of replicating speech, even their own language, and attempting to train them in any form of sign language ended with utter failure. Most of the Galra they found were sterile, and those that weren’t had no motivation to reproduce, or if they did, the females would often die or miscarry. Their eyes had lost the golden yellow glow of quintessence shine, and it was argued among alchemists and scientists whether their regression was caused by quintessence severance, or if it was the fault of the disease. Alteans had come across civilizations who owed their progress to early discovery of quintessence, but never had they seen quintessence so ingrained into genetic and neurological development that to lose it meant to lose the collective intelligence and progress of an entire race.

In the end, it was agreed that it was all the cause of a tragic combination of factors. After the Galra lost Daibazaal, their only sources of quintessence came from what they could steal from other planets, and after the coalition formed and forced the Galra away from living planets, their race was left to decay in the void of space. The disease weakened their mental faculties as their numbers were reduced by the sterility also brought on by the disease. All the while, Altean and coalition troops had been unceasingly executing Galran soldiers and displacing the Galran diaspora. The quintessence severance handled the rest.

At some point the Alteans had to admit that what they had been doing was basically genocide, even if they hadn’t known at the time how severely the Galran race was being effected. The damage was done, and when Altea and the coalition announced the news to the rest of the universe, few cared to mourn, and others continued to persecute whatever Galra they could find still living on their planets. The memory was still new, and few could find it in themselves to care that whatever Galra were left were well and truly already dead.

Reports began coming in between scattered galaxies of small packs of Galra that had taken up residence on random planets, living out the rest of their days in some semblance of comfort as they fell into their instincts. The Alteans kept an eye on those colonies, providing whatever the Galra may need to hopefully survive and thrive, and maybe, just maybe, regain their quintessence connection and beat the odds of their spreading sterility.

Inhabited planets quietly requested removal of feral Galra that had taken over all the abandoned and wild spaces, infringing on the lives of people who didn’t want to look at what they had contributed in creating. Altea complied and moved those packs to the colonies on isolated planets. The coalition couldn’t force inhabited planets to host the Galra, too afraid that, by doing so, some would be inspired to take matters into their own hands and dispatch with the Galra themselves. Some planets accepted the Galra and housed them on isolated reserves, though it was only a matter of time before those facilities eventually closed down as the Galra passed away.

In short order the Galra had been reduced to little more than especially troublesome feral cats capable of ripping a man’s arm off should they be frightened or threatened enough. It sparked a new kind of fear in people as they began to see the Galra as wild animals. It was a sentiment that Altea couldn’t force them to shake off. The Galra became less like bogeymen and more like dragons in the minds of most people. The chances of seeing a Galra were slim to none, but if you ever did there would be no doubt in your mind of the terror they could bring and the calamity of their presence.

 

And time moved on, and the Galra died, until only a handful were left. Princess Allura fell to her knees in front of them and cried as she apologized over and over for what they had done. But the Galra only looked at her with blank stares before they went back to grooming themselves, as if nothing was wrong. They were incapable of accepting her apology, and in the end, it wouldn’t matter if they could.

The last Galra died in his sleep, softly breathing the last breath of a race that once walked the breadth of the universe.

And the universe only sighed in return.


	3. Sneak Peek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some info concerning the future of this fic as well as a chunk of the next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STOP!!  
> Before you go on and read this, go ahead and skip to the next chapter! This was a sneak peek of chapter three posted originally as a treat before a temporary hiatus because I was working abroad. The full chapter is in the next chapter!

IF YOU ARE READING THIS POST CHAPTER 4 BEING UPLOADED, YOU CAN SKIP THIS CHAPTER. IT ONLY HAS PART OF CHAPTER THREE'S CONTENT AND IS LARGELY UNEDITED. GO TO THE NEXT CHAPTER FOR THE FULL CHAPTER 3.

 

Hi everyone. I want to make it abundantly clear that I am not abandoning this fic, and I fully intend to keep up a consistent update schedule.

I started this fic while I was procrastinating studying and writing for finals at the end of the college semester, so this did start out as something with potential to be abandoned quickly. However, I have become really invested in this story, and the development of the plot and overall story has evolved a lot since then, which is initially why it took so long for this next chapter to come out. The next few chapters are going to involve a lot of world building.

I had to do a lot of thinking about my characters history and how I intend to build the world they live in, particularly in concerns to the plot I introduced in chapter two, because believe me, that shit is complicated. I have been sporadically writing up world and character info between my phone and a word document, as well as key points in the story that I know I want to happen, but are currently further off that what I can write about now. I also have several chunks of future chapters already written, as well as an unedited quarter of the next chapter, but not enough to justify a proper update (though that chunk will be part of this little announcement). 

I also have been caught up in a few family matters recently, and I have just gotten finished preparing for my trip abroad. I will be abroad for five weeks as a student on an Archaeological field school, and so I will be very busy. I will have some rest days when I may be able to get more writing done, though it is not a sure thing. Hopefully I can surprise y’all with an update while I am there, but for now, following this chapter, this fic will be on a five week hiatus. 

*bows apologetically

I’m sorry it's turned out like this, but please enjoy a sneak peek of the next chapter!

* * *

 

 

 

Chapter 3 Sneak Peek: Unexpected Guests

If you were to ask Hunk how he managed to drag a huge, unconscious Galra into his apartment complex and get it up to the fifth floor without being seen, he couldn’t tell you, as he had only a vague recollection of almost dropping the Galra from the third level of the fire escape. He only remembers kneeling there in the alley with the rain soaking through the knees of his pants and into his hair from above, with the Galra’s blood staining the sleeves of his shirt and running down his chest. Then he was suddenly stumbling through the apartment window (he’d have to talk to Lance again about his habit of leaving it unlocked) and gently laying the Galra down on the dining room floor as he scrambled for the bathroom to grab the first aid kit.

He could suture and wrap a wound well enough. Garrison training was thorough, and he remembers being thankful for the first-aid training in many instances during his time as a Garrison soldier. As a cadet he hadn’t really understood how valuable the skill would be, nor did he appreciate the time to learn it when he could have been focusing on his work as an engineer.

He used hydrogen peroxide to clean the smaller cuts and scrapes and used a rag soaked with warm, soapy-water to clean around the deeper wounds. The thick fur got in the way and made things more difficult, but Hunk managed well enough. He cleaned the cut on the Galra’s face, which wasn’t as bad as Hunk initially thought, but it would most definitely scar. While there he cleaned the crusted up gunk from the Galra’s eyes, carefully combing it out of the delicate fur and skin with the tip of a finger. He still couldn’t be sure if the Galra was suffering from an infection, but he would leave well enough alone for now.

The stab wound on the Galra’s shoulder was not that bad either. A clean entrance and exit left the skin around the wound whole enough to mend. The three gashes underneath were larger than Hunk first thought, extending from shoulder blade down to ribs in a staggered row. The gashes looked suspiciously like claw marks, and they became shallower as they extended from the initial strike point, like something sunk its claws in and then tried to rip the Galra open. The wounds were frightening, but not severe. Hunk applied medicine, sutured and packed the widest parts of the cuts, and tightly wrapped the Galra’s chest and ribs.

The wide Gash at the bottom of the Galra’s ribs on the opposite side had finally stopped bleeding, but the wound was so ragged and uneven that there was nothing Hunk could do except clean it, wrap it, and pray.

The Galra was huge, almost two feet taller than Hunk, with wide shoulders and a lithe frame. It wouldn’t fit on the couch, so Hunk dragged it to his bedroom and wiped down its fur with a clean wet rag and dried it off the best he could before hefting it onto the bed. Hunk wasn’t really sure how he managed to drag the thing and its immense bulk up the fire escape but he didn’t want to think about it too much.

He was too tired to wrestle the blankets out from under the Galra’s body, so he grabbed an extra blanket from the linen closet and threw it over the Galra’s body. He remembered reading somewhere that the Galra are sensitive to bright light so he made sure to draw the blinds and curtains before silently stepping out the door and softly shutting it behind him.

He grabbed the mop and cleaned up the blood and water smeared all over the dining room floor and then took a shower and put on clean clothes, throwing his bloodstained shirt in the trash. It was ruined now and he couldn’t imagine he would be up to working out the blood stains any time soon.

After the shower he checked in on the Galra, who was still sleeping, and then made his way back into the living room. He slumped on the couch and turned on the television, but he could not concentrate on the program.

How could he? There’s an extinct- supposedly extinct- alien sleeping in his bed, an alien he could be persecuted for housing. Besides the fact that the Galra were the most hated race in the known universe, they were one of only eight alien species to be banned from ever visiting Earth’s surface, and to harbor one illegally on the planet could get you a life sentence, or worse. The Galra were the only race to be banned from earth because of bad history. The other seven species were banned because visiting the planet would be biologically detrimental to either themselves or the people of Earth.

After the Galra started dying off from an alien disease the entire universe got a bit more paranoid about interstellar visitors. Humans and any aliens traveling from earth are banned in nine different systems because Earth is apparently the petri dish of universally deadly diseases. The Galra were one of the only races to be denied planetary entry almost universally. Either because people feared their disease or the history that came with them.

For Earth it had been a century since the last Galra died, but some planets that were once the Galra’s victims had not even seen a single full planetary solar revolution. Other planets were home to alien races that could live for thousands of deca-phoebs, aliens who would remember the atrocities of the Galra. Humans may not live that long, but they remember well enough. Hatred for the Galra was still strong on Earth. Hunk was housing the alpha of illegal aliens in his bedroom.

If Hunk revealed what he found to the wrong people they would kill the Galran for sure. He couldn’t go to the police, he couldn’t take the Galra to a hospital, and he definitely couldn’t tell the Garrison, not that the Garrison was even an option now. They would ask why he didn’t call the authorities the moment he found the Galra in that alley, and Hunk would be damned the moment they found out he hid the Galra away and treated its wounds.

He was stuck. So what could he do?

He’d have to tell Lance and Pidge. Their level of hatred for the Galra had never come up in casual conversation, but he hoped he knew them well enough to know that they wouldn’t be completely averse to the idea of taking care of a Galran for the foreseeable future. Once they got it up to good health they could see about smuggling it off planet. That would be another problem entirely, but if they could get the Galran to Altea, the Alteans would take good care of it. The Alteans had dedicated themselves to saving the Galrans since the Dead Dawn, so they would probably be ecstatic to see a more-or-less healthy member of the species. At least, he hoped so.

Hunk tried not to think about how the Galran got onto the planet in the first place.

Earth was one of the many planetary coalition members to refuse to take in Galra refugees after the Dead Dawn, and no planet in any of the neighboring systems besides the Gohberii cluster ever hosted any reserves.

But the Gohberii cluster was on the other side of the galaxy. It wasn’t impossible, but Hunk could not imagine a single Galra could travel across the galaxy and make it through the coalition blockade and earth customs undetected.

Unless it was not alone, and there were other Galra running around on the planet, which was an objectively scarier thought than having one sleeping in his bed.

Hunk was still languishing over what he should do when Lance walked through the front door. He wasn’t wearing his Garrison uniform so he must have taken the afternoon off.

Hunk barely remembered to reply to Lance’s hello as he hung up his bag by the front door and stuck his umbrella in the case by the door. If Lance noticed he was acting weird he didn’t say anything. Hunk half listened to the television and to Lance moving around the apartment, disappearing down the hallway to his room to change, and then returning to heat up leftovers from last night’s dinner.

Lance settled onto the couch next to Hunk, and then raised is eyebrow as he noticed what Hunk was watching.

“You’re watching wheel of fortune? I thought you hated this show.”

Hunk tuned in just in time to notice a contestant on the screen jumping up and down in excitement for winning a trip to H’zambera in the Madoii quadrant, while the green-skinned host beamed at the camera.

“Er…I wasn’t really watching,” Hunk grimaced.

Lance hummed. “Mind if I change the channel?”

“Go ahead.”

Lance scrolled through the TV guide and finally settled on watching reruns of the Golden Girls. Hunk tuned back out, and Lance seemed too tired to start a conversation, so they sat in relative silence as the TV played white noise and Lance scraped his fork against his plate.

Lance eventually finished his dinner and took his plate back to the kitchen before disappearing down the hallway once again.

He’s gone for a long time, which wouldn’t be so unusual if Hunk had not suddenly gotten a bad feeling as he glanced to where Lance had disappeared down the hallway. He realizes with a start that he had left his bedroom door slightly ajar, open just enough for Lance easily accidentally glance through and notice the Galra in his bed. Lance is a drama magnet, and he has no qualms about sticking his nose into other people's business or snooping through an open door if it means he has something to gossip about later. He wouldn't hesitate to investigate Hunk's room if he noticed anything odd.

Hunk cursed and jumped up from the couch just as Lance came storming down the hallway, his eyes shooting lightening. He grabbed Hunks arm in a tight grip, hissing through clenched teeth.

“Who the _hell_ is that in your bed? Are you fucking cheating on Ryan!? What the hell!”

Hunk is confused for a moment before he realizes that Lance must not have seen the Galra up close, just that there was someone in the bed who was definitely way too big to be human. or with Hunk's luck, Lance  _did_ see it up close and didn't recognize the Galran for what it was because he hadn't paid attention when they were cadets in the Garrison and they were forced to sit through alien identification courses.

Nevertheless, Lance looked like he was about to commit murder, and honestly Hunk wouldn’t blame him. Ryan was an amazing and sweet guy, and even though Hunk was one of Lance’s best friends, even he wouldn’t be safe for hurting Ryan. If Hunk _was_ cheating on Ryan he would probably thank Lance for kicking his ass if it would bring him to his senses.

But as it were, he wasn’t cheating, and he needed to do damage control fast before Lance called Ryan and started making all sorts of wild accusations.

Hunk held his hands up in self-defense as Lance loomed over him menacingly. 

“It’s not what you think Lance! Let me-”

Before Hunk could continue, the front door opened, and Pidge walked through.

“Hey guys, dad made me leave early so if we still wanted to go-“

 “Pidge! Hunk is cheating on Ryan! With an alien!” Lance screamed, raising his hand to point accusingly in Hunk’s face.  

Pidge was taken aback for a moment, pausing as she glanced between Lance’s cross face and Hunk’s helpless and pleading expression.

She sighed as she shut the door and let her shoulders sag, the strap of her messenger bag sliding off her shoulder, allowing the bag to quietly thump quietly against the floor.

Lance stared expectantly at her, like a tattle-tell fiver year old waiting to see his mother punish a younger sibling.

Pidge sounded tired when she said, “Give me five minutes to change and get something to eat. Then we can talk.”

Her tone brooks no argument, and while Lance looked as if he wanted to protest, he settled for sitting in the armchair across from Hunk and glaring daggers at him while Hunk twiddled his fingers nervously and tried to distract himself by watching the Golden Girls.


	4. An Unexpected Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mother's still told their rambunctious children, "If you don't eat your greens, a Galra will come at night and eat your feet," while great grandfathers told tall-tales about the feral Galra that roamed Mars' deserts like hunting specters.  
> Pictures of Galra warlords decorate whole pages of school textbooks, and the atrocities that piled up over twelve thousand decaphoebs became too terrible and numerous to name in all the pages in all of the books in the universe. The Galra paid the ultimate price for their crimes as the universe paid the weight back in full.  
> Hate and fear are all anyone remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this ended up coming out two weeks later than planned. I was asked to extend my stay on the project for one more week so when I got back from camping in a tent for five weeks in another country I had to take some time to readjust and just relax for a bit. But now I'm back and I am determined to get at least two chapters posted before the 25th of August. Most of what you read in the sneak-peek in the last chapter has been revised and redone because that was a very rough and unedited version of what chapter three was supposed to be. You'll actually only find little bits and pieces of the original sneak-peek section in here.  
> Hope you enjoy it!

The rest of Hunk's night was a blur up until the moment he seemed to come back to himself as he washed the galran's blood from his hands. The water tinted green and seemed to stain Hunk's vision over the backdrop of the gleaming white porcelain sink. 

The galran was sleeping soundly in Hunk's bed, and even though Hunk tried to make the alien fit, its feet still hung off the edge. 

He only vaguely remembers dragging the the huge, unconscious galran up the fire escape to get to the fifth floor. He remembers being terrified the whole time of getting caught, or potentially making the galran's wounds worse. By the time he hefted the alien through the unlocked apartment window, (he'll have to talk to Lance about that particular bad habit) he was soaked to the bone with rain and galra blood.

He had thoroughly exhausted the contents of the first aid kit and nearly fried his brain as he attempted to remember his garrison first-aide training. He could suture and wrap a wound well enough, but in that moment he wished he had paid more attention to his more menial courses as a cadet. Medical care was more up Pidge's avenue.

Overall, the galran's wounds weren't as severe as they initially looked. He used hydrogen peroxide to clean the smaller cuts and scrapes and a rag soaked with warm, soapy-water to clean around the deeper wounds. The thick fur got in the way and made things more difficult, but Hunk managed well enough. After getting a chance to properly clean and inspect the built up gunk around the galran's eyes, Hunk was able to rule out the possibility of an eye infection. The cut on the galran's face looked more menacing than it really was, though it would definitely scar. 

The stab wound on the Galra’s shoulder had a clean point of entry, and the skin around the wound was whole enough to mend. The three gashes underneath were larger than Hunk first thought, extending from shoulder blade down to ribs in a staggered row. The gashes looked suspiciously like claw marks, and they became shallower as they extended from the initial strike point, like something sunk its claws in and then tried to rip the galra open. The wounds were frightening, but not severe. Hunk applied medicine, sutured and packed what he could, and tightly wrapped the galran’s chest and ribs.

The wide gash at the bottom of the galran’s ribs on the opposite side had finally stopped bleeding, but the wound was so ragged and uneven that there was nothing Hunk could do except clean it, wrap it, and pray.

After getting the galran into the bed and washing his hands, Hunk went back into the dining room where he had done his impromptu medical care and mopped up the blood and rainwater and then sterilized it.

After he got the dining room acceptably clean he went to the bathroom, stripped, and took the most thorough shower of his life.

His clothes were ruined by mud and green alien blood that would create stains not even a full bottle of bleach could remove, so Hunk threw them away.

He made his way back into the kitchen and thought about making dinner, but even the thought of food made his stomach turn so he instead grabbed his laptop and settled in on the couch. After a moment of deliberation he boogled the intergalactic archive page and typed "galra" in the search bar. Immediate results were links to documentaries on the Dead Dawn, the Galra Genocide, and even decaphoebs-old space tube clips of feral galra spotted in the wild forests of moons on the fringes of the known universe.

He narrowed the results to Earth related incidents and news. The most recent updates to the archive were dated to just a little less than a century ago. The topmost result detailed a revision to Earth's immigration code, wherein the alien race known as the Marsona were added to the "barred from planetary entry" list, a list that the Galra were also a part of, along with eight other extraterrestrial species. Some of them were allowed within the atmosphere, while others were even permitted transit through the Juno IV space station, though all of them were banned from direct entry onto the planet, either it be in concerns to their own health, or to maintain the ecological stability of the planet. The Galra were the only ones with a black box in their immigration profile, a universal symbol in galactic immigration policy: "Barred at all entry levels. Detain and/or execute in accordance with compliance codes listed in Coalition Accords chapter 9.F.11.05."

A link to the accord page flashed blue next to the black box, and Hunk clicked it.

Coalition Accords chapter nine section F is an entire thirty pages of policy regarding the Galra, five pages of which detail how they should be handled in planetary immigration. The rest of it (before much of it was amended or rescinded altogether following the Dead Dawn) involves planetary or galaxy-wide emergency procedure and methods of retaliation in the face of a hostile takeover. Later additions detail communication instruction and steps to undertake for immediate peaceful removal of feral Galra.

Scrolling down the list of planets that conform to that section of the accords reveals that most of the restrictions on the Galra Universal profile haven't been lifted. A few sympathetic planets that hosted reserves lifted section F restrictions at Altea's behest, but most planets, like Earth, left their stance on the policy as was agreed a thousand decaphoebs ago.

Hunk can't really fault those planets that have chosen to keep the policy in place. For Earth it has been a century since the last Galra died, and a thousand decaphoebs since the true end of Galra occupation of the planet. But for others, only a handful of complete solar revolutions have passed on their planets since the Galra were overthrown. Other planets host races that live to be hundreds or even thousands of decaphoebs old. Fear of the Galra is still strong in the galaxy, hatred even stronger. The Galra still live in the works of nightmares and ghost stories.

Mother's still tell their rambunctious children, "If you don't eat your greens, a Galra will come at night and eat your feet," while great grandfathers tell tall-tales about the feral Galra that roam Mars' deserts like hunting specters.  
Pictures of Galra warlords decorate whole pages of school textbooks, and the atrocities that piled up over twelve thousand decaphoebs became too terrible and numerous to name in all the pages in all of the books in the universe. The Galra paid the ultimate price for their crimes as the universe paid the weight back in full.  
Hate and fear are all anyone remembers. 

Section F of the accords only polices broad policy. It can't tell people how to conduct business on a planet-by-planet basis, and it doesn't try. The accords are basically a guidebook on intergalactic policy that is available to all members and non-members of the coalition. It gives advice, sets basic rules, and ensures that coalition members won't blow up someone else's planet or enslave entire galaxies. Systems and planets get to interpret and enforce the accords as they see fit, so long as they don't break the basic laws of the accords. Earth, along with Altea, most of the Balmeras, and Olkarion follow the mandates of the accords the most strictly. Following the Dead Dawn, Altea pushed for an amendment to section F of the accords in concerns to the section detailing the treatment of galra war sympathizers and the conditions of punishment for illegal quartering of galra diaspora. The amendment passed, but both Earth and several of the balmeras chose to uphold the original policy.

The original policy for illegal quartering of galra or galra sympathizers calls either for exile of the accused to non-coalition systems, or the immediate termination of the accused, as well as any and all other subjects involved, depending on the severity of the case.

Earth policy tended to favor termination.

Hunk cursed, slamming his fist on the table in frustration.

If the wrong people discovered that Hunk was housing a galran, he and the galran could be executed, and Lance and Pidge could potentially be exiled by proxy. It was stupid for him to have done this. Why does he always have to go sticking his nose where it doesn't belong?

Hunk gripped his fists tight and took a deep breath.

_It's too late to turn back now. It's not like I can just go dump it back in the rain..._

Hunk let the breath out slowly and unclenched his fists, forcing his palms flat against the table, fingers splayed like an awkward star.

He counts his fingers as he goes over his options, a rough plan beginning to form in his head.

 

He’d have to tell Lance and Pidge. Their level of hatred for the Galra had never exactly come up in casual conversation, but he hoped he knew them well enough to know that they wouldn’t be completely averse to the idea of taking care of a Galran for the foreseeable future. Once they got it up to good health they could see about smuggling it off planet. That would be another problem entirely, but if they could get the Galran to Altea, the Alteans would take good care of it. The Alteans had dedicated themselves to saving the Galrans since the Dead Dawn, so they would probably be ecstatic to see a more-or-less healthy member of the species. At least, he hoped so.

Hunk left behind the search results on immigration policy and refocused his search on the galra profile. He scrolled through details on basic diet, culture, sensitivities, and even general activities their people found enjoyable. Another adjustment to his search brought up documents on the observed behaviors of the new feral galra, as well as detailed notes from their caretakers on the reserves. Hunk found himself unplugging his laptop and walking it to his bedroom as he examined charts on galra sub-species identification. There were even charts for identifying the age range of a galra.

Hunk set the laptop down on the bedside table and turned the bedroom lights on, making use of the dimmer function to keep the light level low. Apparently the galra favor low-light environments. Hunk backtracked quickly to the kitchen and grabbed a bowl that he filled with warm water, as well as a rag. 

Once back in the bedroom Hunk began gently cleaning the galran's matted fur. He has to leave to change the water and rag a few times, but soon enough the task is done. The galran is still in desperate need of a proper bath, but at least most of the grime was cleared away and Hunk could see the lilac patterns in the galra's dark purple fur.

Hunk looks back and forth between the galra and the charts on his laptop as he studies the markings. The markings on the galrans arms and legs are shaped like upside-down v's, the ends inverting inwards and up. The fur on its chest and belly is a slightly lighter shade than the rest of the body, but not as light as its markings. The lilac colored markings extend up onto its cheeks and end just under and to the side of its eyes, though one is marred by the cut on the galran's face. 

The style of the markings, the fur, as well as the galran's characteristically large ears, lead Hunk to believe the galran is a _Vaneeri,_ the galran name for "people of padded foot", as opposed to the  _Kahmoori_ , the people of hard skin. 

The Galran home world was Gal, a planet largely made up of hot desert lowlands and freezing mountainous regions with small habitable oases between them. The galra evolved with two primary subsets, with one group favoring more feline characteristics with fur, large ears, padded feet, flat noses, and large eyes. Those are the  _Vaneeri_. The  _Kahmoori_   favored scales or leathery skin, small eyes and ears, pointed noses, and vaguely flat, raptor-like feet. Both groups were well suited to the harsh desert environment.

Hunk can't make heads or tails of the galran's subclass, as the page he's scrolling through has hundreds of examples of different markings, so he decided to give it a break and set the laptop aside. Satisfied for now, Hunk shut off the lights and headed back to the kitchen to hopefully whip up a meal the galra could digest until he gets proper supplies.

He's just opened up the fridge to shop his options when he hears a key slide into the lock on the door, and all at once his dread, which had been slowly seeping away, returned full force.

Hunk turned to see Lance  _and_ Pidge walking through the door, the both of them bickering over something Hunk can't hear because his ears are suddenly full of cotton and his mouth is dry. They're both dripping wet from the rain, and normally Hunk would be a bit miffed about them tracking rainwater and mud through the apartment, but right now he's got more important things on his mind.

Like trying to figure out how he's going to explain that he may have irreparably ruined their lives. You know, the usual.

Lance lights up when he sees Hunk, dropping his bag unceremoniously on the floor to make a beeline towards the kitchen, leaving a scowling Pidge to scoop up the bag and set it on the bench by the door.

"Hunk! Pidge got off early so we can totally go out tonight! I called picking the restaurant last week so we have to get dim sum!"

Before Hunk can formulate a response, Lance has darted down the hallway, shedding his rain jacket as he goes.

Pidge rolled her eyes as she hung her coat on the rack and toed off her muddy shoes. Normally Pidge is just as messy and flamboyant as Lance. Her nightmare of a bedroom alone is a testament to her chaotic sense of organization. But she respects Hunk's need to keep the communal areas of the house orderly, so she places her shoes carefully on the mat so that they are out of the way of the door.

"I told him you probably wouldn't want to go out," she says as she hoists herself up onto a bar stool. "What with the rain and all."

Hunk peered out the window to see the rain coming down just as hard as it was before. He tried not to sweat from nerves as memories of the alley reminded him of the terrible soon-to-no-longer-be-a-secret-secret sleeping in his bed.

"Yeah," he said, hoping his trepidation didn't color his voice, "we might just want to do delivery."

Pidge hummed and opened her mouth to respond, but whatever she was going to say was overpowered by Lance's appalled shout exploding from down the hallway.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!"

Hunk doesn't stop to think as the dread curling down his spine turns into a terrifying iron poker in his gut that leaves him breathless as he sprints down the hallway to his room. Pidge called out in alarm but Hunk didn't her what she said.

He must have left the door open by mistake, and Lance must have seen the galran.

"HUNK YOU HAVE SOME FUCKING EXPLAINING TO DO!"

_He was so fucked._   

Lance gripped Hunk's bedroom door frame like he was trying to rip it in half, and the look he sends Hunk's way when he draws near could kill a man. Hunk raised his hands in a placating gesture.

Lance wrenched a hand away from the door frame to point an accusing finger into the bedroom, am angry sneer splitting his angular face like a knife.

"Hunk, this better not be what I think it is," he hissed, his eyes narrowed and his words full of anger and an almost broken desperation.

Pidge stood up on her tip-toes, leaning against Hunk in an attempt to see past his broad frame, but he dare not turn around to ask her to give him some space.

Instead he moved towards Lance and the door, quietly asking Lance to step away from the door frame. Lance concedes, albeit reluctantly, as he scowls and crosses his arms defensively.  

Hunk closed the door and took a shallow breath as Pidge asked what was going on.

"Someone is in there, sleeping in Hunk's bed! And that someone is an alien!" Lance shouted, his face beginning to redden in frustration.

"Hunk, you better not be cheating on Ryan or I swear to god I will hog-tie you and drag you over to him personally!"

Simultaneous relief and a new kind of dread coursed through Hunk's system, and he can't help the little laugh that escaped him. Its just like Lance to come to some wild assumption and make the totally wrong conclusion for a bit of drama. Lance hadn't even noticed what  _kind_ of alien was sleeping in Hunk's bed.

"Oh my god Lance, no! No way," he said through his chuckles.

"I could never do that to Ryan," he said, sobering up now that the whirlwind of emotions had passed. Instead of dread now he felt calm. Ready.

"Then what gives?" Pidge asked. She already seemed a bit fed up with Lance's antics, but even she still has reason to be suspicious. It's not like Hunk to bring strays home, let alone let one into his bed.

...."that's the complicated bit," Hunk says.

Pidge shifted her stance and Lance raised an eyebrow, inquisitive.

"You guys might want to sit down for this. I may have really messed things up."

 

* * *

 

 

"Have you located the asset?"

"Not yet ma'm. The asset lost its tracking unit during the attack. We're putting the sire on its scent, though we may lose it with the recent rain."

"Unacceptable. We need that asset, doctor. He is the key to everything we have been trying to accomplish. We cannot allow hundreds of decaphoebs of work to amount to nothing."

"Yes ma'm. We'll do everything we can. How soon must the subject be ready for transport?"

..."Considering the subject's significant injuries, I'll give you three months to find it and get it up to adequate health for transport."

"Thank you! That should be plenty of time."

"I should hope so. Have you arranged adequate care for the dam in the meantime?"

"Yes. She'll be occupied, don't worry. We've been managing her stress for some time now. She didn't take well to the separation from her pup, and while we're reluctant to separate her from her mate as well, recent circumstances have forced us to make un-ideal decisions. I'll keep you updated on her condition."

"Thank you doctor. I expect a full report on the asset once you have him in custody."

-click-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo, cheesy mysterious ending as well. Lol, I wanted this to be longer after keeping you guys waiting for so long but I'm tired and I felt this was a good stopping point before diving into the next chapter. Not a whole lot happened here in terms of plot, but rest assured a lot is going to start happening soon. I threw in that last bit for y'all because I didn't see any harm in introducing some new stuff, so make sure to let me know if you like it so far or not.  
> Next chapter is planned to release late next week!  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
